


Waking Up

by ClarySage



Category: One Piece
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Short & Sweet, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 09:40:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13455558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarySage/pseuds/ClarySage
Summary: Zoro wakes up after Thriller Bark to Sanji looking cute in his wave hoodie.Zoro POV.





	Waking Up

The first thing you think when you wake up after Thriller Bark isn't to be relieved that you're alive. It isn't even to be relieved that the crew is fine (though that's a close second). It isn't to wonder at your new skeletal crewmate. No, the first thing you think when you sit up is that Sanji is wearing some kind of light blue hoodie with a sea pattern on it and it makes him look really cute.

That slightly mortifying thought done with, you sit and watch the blonde cook and think all those other thoughts that you probably should have had first. Thoughts like 'ow' and 'everyone is alive, huh' and 'well that sure was an unbeatable cyborg man-bear out of nowhere'. 

“You're awake!” Sanji notices you, eyes slightly wide for a moment. His eyes sort of match the hoodie. Well, the one of his eyes you can see.

“Yup.” You tell him, not sure what else you're supposed to say. You did both just try to die for each other, and all. 

Sanji seems to have it covered, though, and belts you upside the head with a mug of beer.

“You're a moron, don't do that again!” The cook snarls. “Brook joined the crew. Here's a beer.” 

You take it, muttering about bipolar chefs, and drink the entire thing before you notice how hungry you are.

“How long was I out?” You ask, handing him the empty mug back. He replaces it with a full one. Chopper would definitely not approve of this but he doesn't quite get that alcohol and sleep are pretty much all you need to heal from anything that doesn't instantly kill you. It's like Luffy and healing via sleep and meat. And the cook just has to either see a pretty girl or be told someone's hungry to get him back up. Speaking of hunger...

“Three days. Eat. If I have to blend it and force it down your throat it'll ruin the presentation and I'll have to put you back in your damn coma.” Sanji threatens mildly, holding out a large plate of your favourite foods. You glance over at the big stew pot and wonder why he didn't just give you that – it doesn't look like anyone else got onigiri.

“You made this just for me?” You tease a little, already stuffing your face because he's squinting closely at you.

“Mosshead, your tastes are like you – simple. Onigiri isn't exactly a tricky dish to make, if you don't appreciate it you can kiss my ass.” He informs you, smoking at the end of the bed. He isn't actually trying to pick a fight, he's just regularly this foul-mouthed and obnoxious when he isn't around women or children. You sort of like it.

“'S good.” You tell him around a mouthful of rice. He has a bandage around his forehead but Sanji looks good in almost anything and somehow he's making it work. You've watched him make some truly staggering fashion choices over the time you've sailed together but he seems to be able to pull most of them off. His locker is next to yours and you've seen glimpses of some of the things in there – you know for a fact he has many more terrible patterned shirts ready to make your eyes bleed.

“Don't talk with your mouth full, you green ingrate.” He accepts the compliment gracefully, as ever. “You want coffee or more beer?” He asks, turning to pour himself some black coffee. He thrives on nicotine and caffeine, after all.

“Sake.” You figure he already knew, since he has a bottle from the ship under the counter where no grabby pirate hands can get at it.

“Chopper's gonna kill you.” He comments as he fills your empty beer mug to the brim with sake. 

“You're the one who gave it to me,” you remind. He looks at the empty bottle thoughtfully for a moment before balancing it on the toe of his shiny black shoe. With what seems like no effort at all he whips it up and the bottle flies up and out of the top of the ruins, far away over the forest. 

“Prove it.” He smirks, tapping ash from his cigarette casually onto the blanket over your feet. He's an asshole.   
You wouldn't want him any other way.


End file.
